


Hard Won

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Malcolm has no intentions of letting this suspect escape.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/JT Tarmel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020, Prodigal Son Pride Bingo





	Hard Won

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cozy_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/gifts), [literati42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
> 
>  **Notes:** written for the cozy_coffee in comment_fic for the prompt Any, any beaten & bloody, and for Literati and the PS trash pride bingo prompt of kiss in the rain as well as the hurt/comfort bingo prompt of 'fighting.' Also I really wanted to write some capable Bright.

Malcolm dragged in a ragged breath as he pounded down the slippery stairs of the Bethseda Terrace’s grand staircase. Swearing under his breath, he caught himself before he nearly took a tumble. The cold Spring downpour turned the stairs icy-slick. A fall down these stairs could be fatal but he couldn’t let Andrew Fenton escape him. Dani was in the hospital with the pedophilic serial killer’s latest ten year old victim, a brave little girl who had escaped running from his apartment naked with ropes around her wrists. She remembered Fenton from where his path had crossed hers on the job.

Somewhere behind him, still in the Mall were JT and Detective Shirahama from sex crimes. Fenton had bowled them both over but probably hadn’t recognized Malcolm as a threat or even necessarily being with the two detectives. However, as a rickshaw bike tour guide in Central Park, Fenton had a distinct advantage over Malcolm; he knew the park intimately and he had legs of steel. Malcolm’s were turning to jelly from the long run. Fenton, at least, was bleeding as he’d skidded out and turned over his rickshaw, leaving him on foot. It was the only reason Malcolm could keep up. 

In the light of the street lamps, Malcolm saw Fenton dart under the terrace, into the Arcade. He poured on the steam, jumping the last four steps down to the ground, his rain-laden jacket clinging and rubbing. As he raced into the Arcade, Malcolm shucked his jacket. As tight and heavy as the rain had made it, the jacket would just slow him down in a fight if he couldn’t talk Fenton down and he doubted he could. He was great at talking people into surrendering, no doubt, but this was a man who had raped and killed at least a half dozen children they knew of. Fenton knew what awaited him in prison. He wasn’t going to be talked into surrendering. 

As he went into the Arcade’s underground, Malcolm wished he were allowed to carry a weapon. He didn’t like guns but this might be an occasion for it. He had no idea how far behind him JT and Shirahama were, if they even were. He hadn’t waited around to see if they had been hurt by the rickshaw. Guilt pricked him for it but pausing to help them would have allowed Fenton to get away. Still, seeing JT down and being unable to stop and help him infuriated and deeply wounded Malcolm.

Fenton remained too far ahead. Malcolm poured on speed as he ripped his tie off, stuffing it in a pocket. If he was going to brawl, maybe having a hand hold around his neck was a bad idea but a tie might come in handy if he got Fenton down. Malcolm hated that they were in this space. The Bethseda Terrace’s Arcade was one of his most favorite places in all of New York. He loved coming here in the hot summer afternoons because not only was the darkness cool but the glorious encaustic Minton tiled ceiling turned the Arcade into a light box, rich in color and patterns and here was Fenton imbuing this space with his ugliness. 

Malcolm reached out, grabbing Fenton by the shirt and swinging him around. At least he got him to stop. “Andrew,” he panted. “Let’s talk about this.”

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Fenton rasped, breathing hard himself. He lashed out with a fist and Malcolm dodged.

He followed up with a blow of his own, aiming for the face. Fenton twisted, and Malcolm caught him along the ear. It was enough to make him stumble but not damage him. Fenton swung and Malcolm threw up a hand, catching a glimpse of a golden skeleton ring on the man’s finger. He yelped as Fenton’s fist slammed into his left thumb and wrist. _Not a ring!_ , he thought, frantic as he contemplated the fact he might have just refractured that hand. Blood poured down his fingers from where the blow split his skin. _Brass knuckles._

The fight instantly uneven, Malcolm couldn’t waste time or words trying to back Fenton off him. He swept his leg out, taking Fenton to the ground. Fenton proved to be no stranger to fighting. He whirled and grabbed for Malcolm’s ankle. Leaping back, Malcolm’s wet-soled shoes slipped and he went down hard. Fenton kicked him in the face and hoofed it out of the Arcade.

Malcolm staggered up, tasting blood. _Well, there’s a lot of it_ , he thought racing after Fenton. He didn’t think he lost a tooth but the way his mouth and nose swelled, he didn’t think he could keep up with another foot race. Breathing was a battle. He ran and skidded across the Roman bricks of the terrace, herding Fenton toward the Angel of the Waters fountain and beyond her, the lake. Malcolm leapt, landing on Fenton’s back. They both hit ground hard, him fumbling for Fenton’s hand trying to strip off the brass knuckles. All Malcolm managed was to bang his finger into the skull’s head.

_Where is JT?_

Fenton bit Malcolm’s battered hand, drawing even more blood. Malcolm jerked away, rolling to his feet as Fenton scrambled up. Fenton snapped around, his fist slamming hard into Malcolm’s cheek, knocking him back. Realizing he was going into the fountain, Malcolm reached out and grappled Fenton in with him. They rolled back and forth, going under, resurfacing, each trying to drown the other. Well subdue the man in Malcolm’s case but no doubt Fenton would drown him if he could. Suddenly Fenton jerked up and away. 

Malcolm broke the surface, still swinging. His upper cut rocked Fenton’s head back right into JT’s face, and Fenton turned into a rag doll.

“Whoa! Bright, it’s okay. I’ve got him!” JT roared, barely audible over Malcolm’s own bellow of pure rage.

Malcolm shook himself. He hated when he let his temper out, when he reminded himself of his own father. JT handed Fenton off to Shirahama and helped Malcolm out of the fountain. Lightning forked across the sky and somehow the downpour seemed to treble its efforts. JT blinded Malcolm with his flashlight as he checked his injuries.

“Shirahama, you have him? I might need to take Bright to the hospital.”

“You do that. I’ll get Fenton downtown and the paperwork started,” she called back, angling Fenton toward a couple of uniformed officers.

“You can quit blinding me, JT. I’m fine,” Malcolm protested, shivering in the rain. His trousers clung to him outlining his body, and he knew JT hadn’t missed that because he caught him sneaking a peek. “I had it handled but thank you for the assist. He cheated with brass knuckles. He was fast as hell, has the calf muscles of Hermes from all that biking. I lost my jack-”

JT stopped Malcolm’s stream of consciousness ramble with his own mouth. Malcolm melted into the kiss, hoping Shirahama and others were out of sight. He slipped his bleeding hand around the back of JT’s neck, remembering there was a time when JT would have told him to stop touching him with his shaky bandage hand. He could use a bandage right about now.

JT traced the bow of Malcolm’s lips with his tongue before stepping back. “Dani was right. That does work to shut you up.” He grinned.

Malcolm snorted. “I can think of a few other things you could do to shut me up.”

JT cupped his chin, tilting his head back examining him again. “Oh?”

“None of which can be done here so the kiss was nice.”

JT leaned down and planted another kiss on Malcolm’s forehead. “Much like Indiana Jones, that’s about the only part of you that’s not beaten, bloody or bruised.”

“You like Indiana Jones? I did not know that. JT Tarmel, you have many layers.” Malcolm tried to smile but his face hurt. A lot. 

“You have only begun to peel them.”

“And I want to peel more.” Malcolm leaned into JT’s touch.

“You’re absolute freezing.”

“I did fall into a fountain.” Malcolm turned on the puppy eyes. “You can take me home and warm me up.”

“Tempting but first you’re going to get your head checked out. You have no idea how swollen your face is getting.”

“Oh, I can feel it,” Malcolm assured him, knowing the only thing his cuffs were going to be used for tonight was sleeping. Still, cuddling with JT had its sweetness, and he’d not turn that down. “But first, I need my jacket.”

“I saw it near the stairs. I thought Fenton got you.”

The tension in JT’s tone drew Malcolm’s gaze. “I might run into danger but I can handle myself.”

JT caressed Malcolm’s shoulder. “I know. Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“Jacket first, car second.”

“Malcolm.”

“That’s Armani wool and silk, which is probably half ruined as is in this rain. Jacket first,” he insisted.

JT sighed but let Malcolm lead him back to the stairs. Malcolm paid him with another quick kiss. The kisses would be better when his mouth wasn’t a beaten mess. The rain beat down but in his mind, he was already home safe and warm in JT’s arms.


End file.
